


Option One

by CookiesAndKatanas



Series: Repo!Hats [5]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drinking, Drug Addiction, Emotional Manipulation, Exploitation, M/M, Sexual Coercion, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookiesAndKatanas/pseuds/CookiesAndKatanas
Summary: "I know where he keeps the pills." Trott stood and went into Smith’s bedroom.Ross would have followed him if he didn't think it would wake Smith, but he heard a rattle, then the toilet flushing.The next morning Trott and Ross told Smith their suspicions about the experimental pills. Smith, expectedly, flipped the fuck out.He just really doesn’t want to get dangled off a hundred story balcony again, but he only asked them why they want him to suffer.In the Repo!Hats chatfic, there were two paths Trott and Ross could have taken about some experimental pills Sips gave Smith to help with Zydrate withdrawal. So what if they destroy the pills? Sips has already gotten upset at Smith for losing track of them once. It can only escalate from here.





	Option One

**Author's Note:**

> This will make absolutely no sense if you haven't read [Repo!Hats AU Chats](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13365084/chapters/30604581) If you're just here to read about coercive noncon, long story short, Smith is hooked on Zydrate, a new painkiller. Sips gives him pills that are supposed to offset withdrawal symptoms. The pills dull everything around him except his own irritability and rage. Trott and Ross, figuring they're experimental and untested, get rid of them so Smith won't get more fucked up than he already is.
> 
> Mind the warnings. 
> 
> cw: exploitation of employee-employer relationship, drinking, emotional manipulation, exploitation of addiction, noncon spanking, rape. if there is something you think I missed, let me know. Especially in a fic like this, I want to make sure everything is properly warned for.
> 
> for some expansion on those tags, read on. if this is exactly what youre looking for, skip ahead to the fic, spoilers in the rest of this note.
> 
> Sips punishes Smith for losing the pills by spanking him. Smith is 100% not about this, but Sips convinces him it is what he deserves for being an awful human being all around. After, he says he will help Smith get better. His version on positive reinforcement is sex, which again, Smith does not want. Smith is drinking, and between the alcohol and the guilt and the power imbalance because Sips is his boss, he lets it happen and plays along so it will be over faster.

"I know where he keeps the pills." Trott stood and went into Smith’s bedroom.

Ross would have followed him if he didn't think it would wake Smith, but he heard a rattle, then the toilet flushing.

 

The next morning Trott and Ross told Smith their suspicions about the experimental pills. Smith, expectedly, flipped the fuck out.

He just really doesn’t want to get dangled off a hundred story balcony again, but he only asked them why they want him to suffer.

 

 

Smith stepped off the elevator apprehensively. Sips was waiting for him, already sitting on the couch, two glasses of whiskey on the table in front of him.

“Smiffy! Took you long enough, come on over. What’d you want to talk about?”

Smith made his way over to the couch, removing his jacket and slinging it over the armrest. He picked up the glass left for him and downed it. Sips raised an eyebrow at him and took a pointedly small sip of his own.

“Fuck that’s good, what is this?” Smith asked, picking up the bottle to look at the label. He poured himself another, and Sips cleared his throat.

“I’ll ask again Smith, what did you want to talk about?”

Smith momentarily froze with a sudden overwhelming fear at Sips’ harder tone. He forced his way through it, and picked up his glass, fiddling with it nervously in his hands. His eyes stayed on it as he said hoarsely, “I need more pills.”

Sips leaned back, chuckling. “You had me going there Smiffy. I thought we’d agreed we’d keep you on minimum dose. We don’t want any nasty side effects, right? We just need to keep things nice and low for you.”

Smith didn’t say anything for a moment, took a shaky breath, and blurted out, “Ilostthem.” Sips’ face shut down into something Smith recognized from the balcony. Smith clutched his drink like it could save him. “Sips, Sips please. I’m so sorry I don't-"

Sips put his glass down on the table and sat back in the couch. “Put your glass down Smiffy.”

Smith’s eyes darted around the room, trying to figure out where whatever Sips had planned was. He glanced down at his drink and quickly gulped it down. No sooner than it had clicked on the the table, Sips was pulling him back by his collar.

He ended up sprawled over Sips’ lap, Sips’ hand rough in his hair, and his voice dangerous in his ear. “What did I tell you about those pills.”

Smith felt panic welling up in his throat, and he tried to plant his feet. Sips spread his legs more, and Smith couldn’t get an angle with anything more than the toe of his shoes on the floor. He tried to lift himself up on his hands, and Sips pushed his head down, hand fisting in his hair.

“I asked you a _fucking_ question, Smiffy.” Sips punctuated by shaking Smith’s head.

“I’m sorry!” Smith cried to the floor, eyes scrunched tightly shut. “I said I'd be more careful but-" Trott and Ross’ names stick in his throat.

“But you weren't. And now we're here and you need a more hands on lesson.” Sips’ hand moved from his lower back to grab his waistband, yanking down.

Smith tried to get his feet on the floor again, his shoes kicking uselessly across the floor as he tried to get traction. _Not like this no no no_

Sips got Smith’s pants down below his ass. “I- gave- you- everything!” Each word was punctuated by a stinging blow. They came faster as Sips continued. “I gave you an education, a job, a chance to survive!”

Pain built up over the repeated blows, and Smith bit his lip to keep his whimpers muffled.

“Even when I found out you were a _loser_ , a _junkie_ , like every other _fuckface_ out there, I helped you! And when you let me down I still helped you! Why- are you- so- ungrateful!” Smith couldn’t hold it back anymore, and a sob slipped out. Shame and pain twisted in his chest, wringing him out.

Sips took a deep breath, and his hand came down gentle this time. The fist in Smith’s hair loosened, and stroked his hair back into place. He soothed his hand over Smith’s abused ass, and though Smith knew it was supposed to comfort, the friction of Sips’ rough hands against his skin felt like razors.

“I know you can't help yourself Smiffy. That's why I’m still here for you. That’s why I put the effort into teaching you.”

Smith’s breathing was still hitching, and the fight had left him sometime around “loser".

Sips patted Smith's thigh, and Smith flinched. “Come on boy, now let's get some lotion on that ass.”

Smith pushed himself up, limbs and breath shaky like a newborn deer. He scrubbed at his eyes, clearing away any lingering tears.

He yanked his pants back up as Sips dug around in his desk drawers. His backside protested the rough treatment, but like hell he was going to slow down. He picked up the bottle of whiskey again, and after a moment of consideration poured it into a glass. Can’t look too desperate, too much like a junkie scrambling for the next best thing.

Sips came back over to stand behind the couch. Smith was about about to lift the bottle for another refill and Sips said, “Don't you think you've had enough?”

Smith didn’t answer, but he put the bottle down. He couldn't seem to meet Sips’ eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize, again, but Sips cut him off before he could start.

“Come on Smiffy, come around so I can take care of you.”

Smith walked around to the back of the couch. Sips twirled his finger in the air, and Smith turned around. He didn't like putting his back to Sips. From behind him, “Well I can't get to your ass with your pants up.”

Smith unbuttoned his pants, still facing away from Sips. He didn't like this, the soft promise of care was little reassurance. Care from others was fucked up and incomprehensible. His mind flashed to Trott and Ross in his kitchen, making breakfast one moment, telling him they flushed his meds the next.

When his pants were down around his thighs, instead of a hand on his ass, Sips put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him down against the couch. The world spun with him, and he sighed, glad for the alcohol finally catching up with him. It wasn't Z, but it was nice.

Smith adjusted himself, leaning on his forearms and enjoying the headiness of it.  For a flash, Smith worried Sips would take this away from him, as he took his leverage from him before, but Sips just pulled Smith’s pants down to his knees and kicked his feet apart.

The expected touch finally came, Sips’ hands cold and slick. Smith flinched away from it, head spinning with the bright new sensation and sharp movement. Sips grabbed him by his hips and pulled him back into place, one hand keeping him still and the other spreading cool lotion against his hot skin.

Smith fell into the rhythm of it, maybe too much effort devoted to keeping steady against Sips’ rough hands.

After a few infinitely long minutes, Sips turned away, and Smith straightened up, about to pull his pants back up.

Sips tsk’ed from behind him, and Smith froze,  turning to look at him. He held the bottle of lotion in one hand. “And you were on such a good streak there.”

Smith went back to his previous position, tension lancing up and down his spine, but Sips’ hands were softer this time when they touched him again. “There you go Smiffy, you're learning! Good boys get nice things.” Smith relaxed. He was doing good. It would be okay from here on out. “I know we both know you're a filthy junkie, but you're trying.”

Sips’ hands got rough again, grabbing his ass, more like feeling him up than the massage from before. It was distracting. “And when you've already fucked up so badly any step in the right direction is an improvement. You don't need to worry about taking steps backwards, that's what I’m here for.”

Sips stepped in close beside him, hands on Smith's hips. “You don't have to worry about a single thing, because if you just follow my lead, you'll stay on the right path.” One of Sips’ hands came to Smith's front and started lightly stroking his cock. “And you get rewards if-"

Through his alcohol and shock, Smith started to stand up, mind catching up to what was happening. With no hesitation, Sips’ other hand grabbed the back of his neck and pushed him back down. Smith shouted in pain and surprise as Sips’ fingers dug into muscle.

His mind swam in circles, the fucked up care Sips showed him, every true thing he had said, and behind it all, a voice chanting _let it happen let it happen let it happen_.

He gasped out, “I'm sorry! Sips I'm sorry, I just- I was wrong I'm sorry!”

Sips did nothing except say, “Go on.”

Tears built in Smith’s eyes as Sips held his neck tight. His words slurred together the slightest bit as he begged, “I'm sorry I'm a filthy fucking cunt, thank you for taking me in, you helped me so much I'm sorry I couldn't do it by myself-" and once one truth came out, it was all true, “-I’m sorry need it to live, I can't stand it but you're here anyway, I'm sorry, thank you, I'm sorry-" he was sobbing now, taking big ugly heaving breaths between words where he could, “-I can't be good enough, I’m sorry I'll never be good enough-"

He didn't realize Sips had loosened his grip until he stroked down Smith's back soothingly. “Shhhhh…. It's alright Smith. I'm here to help you.”

Smith took muffled, shuddering breaths. He felt absolutely blank inside, like he wasn’t a person, and never had been.

“You did get one thing wrong though.”

Fear. Terror gripped his heart and squeezed and for a moment Smith had never been more scared in his entire life.

“You _can_ be good enough.”

Relief was not a strong enough word.

“You _will_ be good enough. It will be so easy, Smiffy, you'll see. I just tell you what to do, and you do it.” Sips’ hand had been dropping steadily lower down his back, and his thumb brushed against Smith's hole.

Smith's carefully measured breathing stuttered, and he tried his hardest to stay relaxed and keep his feet apart. He couldn't help the distressed high whine that creeped past his lips though.

“Aw Smiffy, I didn't know you were so eager.” Sips pressed his thumb harder against Smith’s hole until it slipped in. Smith couldn't help tensing up now, all the lotion had absorbed into skin and Sips’ hands were so big.

“Look at me being so rude.” Sips reached around to stroke Smith's dick again. “There, is that better?”

Smith wasn't sure if his dick could be any more flaccid. “Yes, yes, thank you. It feels so good.” He hoped the breathlessness in his voice was passable as arousal. “I just, please I need lube please.” Sips’ hands pulled away from him, and he gasped and curled in on himself as much as he could while still staying where Sips put him.

“Jeez, so jumpy.” Sips patted his thigh and Smith flinched.

Smith turned to watch Sips over his shoulder, and almost said something when Sips just put more lotion on his hands. Sips must have seen something on his face though, because he chuckled. “What, do you think I keep lube in my office? It's this or nothing.” He stepped back in close, and Smith could feel his dick against his hip.

Sips went right back to work, one hand at his ass and another on his dick. “I know a big slut like you could probably take it dry, but I'm not a monster.”

The lotion had a chemical sting to it, and Smith grimaced and pushed his face into the cushion. Sips fingered him open quickly, and was soon wringing noises out of him on every too deep thrust and too fast twist of fingers.

After a time both too short and too long, Sips abandoned Smith's unresponsive dick, and Smith heard a zipper.

There was a slick wet sound that Smith hoped meant he put some lotion on his cock, and then he felt it at his entrance. Sips’ rough fingering had done its job, and he slid right in.

Smith groaned, vocalizing a rough exhale. Sips didn't waste a second on getting Smith comfortable, and on every thrust Smith felt the air being pushed from his lungs.

Smith had some pretty big dicks before, but without the steady burn of arousal, fucking just felt like it was pushing everything in his torso out of place.

“You're taking this so well Smiffy. How often do you get fucked? How many times have you taken it up the ass for some Z?”

Smith groaned instead of answering. Never, not once, he could always pay-

“But Trott’s your dealer right?” Smith's stomach felt like a rock. “Tell me, who has the better cock, who fucks you best?”

This time Smith's groan had something too close to a sob in it.

Sips stopped balls deep in Smith and grabbed his hair. “That wasn't rhetorical.”

“You! You fuck me best, your cock is so big-" Smith cut himself of with a shout as Sips started fucking him again, hard and fast.

“What about Ross, I know you all go home together.”

“I don't, we haven't-"

“Don't lie to me!”

Smith stumbled forward with Sips’ rough thrusts, his hips met the back of the couch, and his asshole too empty despite it being what he wanted for the past however long.

It was short lived, as Sips crowded in behind him and got right back to it.

“We haven't fucked, I'm sorry, we go home but we don't fuck, I'm sorry!”

Sips reached around Smith's neck and pulled his head back. His back was at a dramatic arch, and it was hard to take breaths before it'd be fucked right back out of him.

“Good Smiffy, that's good. ‘Cause you're my bitch, understand? Mine.”

“Thank you,” Smith said, high and thin, “thank you for fucking me, thank you for making me your bitch, I love being your bitch-" Smith hadn't really expected it to work, but Sips let go of his neck and stopped talking. As long as Sips knew he was in his place, he supposed.

A few minutes later, Sips asked, “What are you?” His voice was tight and his breathing was fast.

Smith lifted his head from where he’d let the cushion dry his eyes. “I'm yours, I'm your bitch, and I'm going to be good for you and I'm yours-"

Sips cut him off with a loud groan, and he buried himself deep inside Smith, rocking his hips slightly as he rode out his orgasm.

Almost over. Almost free.

Sips pulled out, and Smith could feel how wet his hole was. He quickly pulled his pants up.

Almost over, almost free.

From his desk where he was cleaning his hands and dick with tissues, Sips commented, “Yanno Smiffy, that wasn't half bad. You're a pretty decent fuck.”

With Sips no longer a threat in his immediate space, Smith couldn't bring himself to respond.

Please let it be over.

“Next time go easy on the alcohol, it's no fun if you've got whiskey dick.”

Smith nodded.

Sips pulled his pants back up and got presentable again. When he saw Smith still standing there, he said, “Well whaddya waiting for? I got shit to do, I'm a busy guy!”

“My pills, Sips, ple-"

“Oh yeah. Come up here twice a day, I guess I have to give them to you myself since you can't be trusted.”

Smith's heart sank. Twice a day.

Sips opened a drawer, opened a bottle, and tossed Smith a pill. Smith missed the catch, and felt everything protest as he dropped to the ground to pick it up.

Nothing but a desperate junkie.

He stood, swallowed it dry, and looked at Sips uncertainly. 

Doing something he didn't want had already been proven to have consequences.

Sips looked up from his monitor.

Please.

Please.

“Well get outta here! Come on, I've got a company to run!”

Smith grabbed his jacket and turned to the elevator, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his ass, his hips, his dick where it felt like Sips had rubbed him raw. His body felt heavy and dull, one area burning with sensation and ghost touch.

He spent the elevator ride with his mind helplessly jumping to the highlights of the afternoon.

 _Twice a day_.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at the beginning of the month. This sort of scene is very cathartic for me. Its very rough and absolutely not for everyone but this is sometimes the sort of thing I need to read (or write). The idea that someone can tear you down, lay out all your flaws, and still care in a fucked up manipulative way is a really weird fantasy, but there are weirder ones out there.
> 
> As in the pre note, let me know if you think I missed a content warning.
> 
> My (increasingly sporadic) tumblr is [CookiesAndKatanas](cookiesandkatanas.tumblr.com)


End file.
